


Clean Me Up

by rivers_bend



Series: Pull Me Under [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hair Washing, M/M, Reunion Sex, Shower Sex, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nick pulls him close, wraps him tight in his arms. Harry smells like cologne and airplane and traffic, and he's clinging to Nick like he's afraid Nick's going to boot him out the door. "Want me to run you a bath?" Nick asks. "I'll wash your hair for you."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> a tumblr fic that got long, timestamp before Pull Me Under.  
> The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply any of this happened.

￼Harry's plane landed forty-seven minutes ago. Or at least that's when Nick got the text saying, "wheels down. dinner at yours tonight?" The first picture of him at the airport appeared on tumblr twenty-three minutes ago. It's blurry, and of Harry's side, but Nick would recognize that bit of old, torn flannel wrapped around the shadowy figure's head anywhere, and he's guessing from her twitter name, so would the girl who took the picture. He should probably give Harry another hour before he expects him. 

An hour was generous. Harry's there in thirty-nine minutes. Not that Nick's counting. 

Puppy jumps all over him while Nick takes his bags. When Harry crouches down to greet her, Nick has a good view from above, and can't help wondering if he's washed his hair at all since he left. The scrap of flannel looks nearly fused to his head. "Are you starving?" Nick asks, because it's only polite when he'd offered Harry dinner.   
"Nah," Harry answers. "I'll need to eat, but it doesn't have to be now." Puppy's settled a bit, and Harry stands. "Gi'us a hug, though? It was-- Yeah."

Nick pulls him close, wraps him tight in his arms. Harry smells like cologne and airplane and traffic, and he's clinging to Nick like he's afraid Nick's going to boot him out the door. "Want me to run you a bath?" Nick asks. "I'll wash your hair for you."

Harry relaxes a fraction. "Subtle," he says. But he doesn't sound put out. "Bath takes ages. Shower. You can still wash my hair, though. Been too long since I saw you naked." 

"You say that every time, Harold," Nick says.

"It's true every time," Harry answers. With a little tug at Nick's belt loop, he heads for the bathroom.

His headband is not, in fact, fused to his hair, but it is disgusting. Nick will have to figure out a way to throw it in the bin without Harry noticing. Or at least get it in the washer. But for now it's on the floor under Harry's three shirts and ripped jeans and Nick's missing favourite pair of boxer briefs. He should have known they'd ended up in Harry's bag. "Water's hot, young vagabond," he says, because otherwise he's going to tell Harry what he thinks about his pants-stealing ways. And it won't be a complaint.

"Get in with me, you promised," Harry tells him as he's stepping past the curtain.

"I did no such thing," Nick retorts. But it's muffled in his shirt as he pulls it over his head.

Harry's doing his best drowned rat impression by the time Nick steps into the tub, standing head down, shoulders under the spray, wet hair in lank strings around his face. He looks as defeated as his hairdo. "Chin up, lad," Nick says brightly. "You're about to have the most exclusive spa treatment in all of London." That gets him a smile, weak, but sincere.

"I'm still traumatized by that time you tried to put guacamole on my face," Harry says. "I wouldn't quit your day job."

"Whatever. I have magic fingers."

"That's true."

"And a massive cock."

That gets an actual laugh. Not bright and long like Harry will do when he's relaxed, but one that lights in his eyes, so Nick's satisfied. "Give us your magic fingers, then," Harry says, tipping his head back under the water.

Nick grabs the clarifying, curl-enhancing, product-busting miracle suds that Henry brought him last time he went to Italy, and pours twice what he'd use on his own hair into his palm. "C'mere," he says, nudging Harry forward a bit. Harry tips his head obligingly out of the spray and into range of Nick's hands. Pushing Harry's hair off his face, Nick slathers it with shampoo, then starts to work up a lather.

At first, Harry keeps his spine stiff, holding steady against Nick's ministrations, but as Nick skritches and scrubs, twists and pulls, it gets looser, until Nick's just making his skull loll on his neck. "Gonna rinse, now," he says softly, guiding Harry back under the spray. He has to keep a tight grip on Harry's hair to avoid drowning him.

"Mmm," Harry breathes as Nick works the suds out. It's a good sound. Reassuring, especially in the face of Harry's tension since he got home, and not unlike the sounds Harry makes when Nick's kissing him. Nick realizes he hasn't kissed him yet. They've got time for that. Time and Nick's bed, where there's no water trying to get up their noses.

Conditioner is next, and Nick's still working it towards the back when Harry's hands slide round his waist, and he starts sinking, pushing Nick back a step, then another, getting to his knees. "Haz?" Nick says, because Nick thought he was on the verge of sleep. He doesn't need 1/5 of the most famous pop act in the world fainting in his shower and getting a concussion.

But Harry doesn't seem to be fainting. He's pressing his face into Nick's belly, nuzzling and pushing with his forehead, the jut of his nose, burrowing into the softness over Nick's underworked obliques with the ridge of his cheekbones and the angles of his jaw. "Haz?" Nick asks again, and Harry doesn't answer except to press his head back into the lax grip Nick's barely got on the hair at his nape, before mouthing at the beads of water pearled in the hair on Nick's belly. Nick knows that press, and his fingers get with the programme, twisting in Harry's curls, about the same time his dick realizes where Harry's heading, both of them a full breath ahead of Nick's brain.

Then Harry's got the head of Nick's cock in his mouth, sucking on it slow and languid like Nick's a sweetie he wants to savour. Nick had almost forgotten while Harry was gone what it's like when he does this. When he goes down on Nick like Nick's pleasuring him, not the other way around. Probably because it's not every time, or even most times, but fuck he's there now, stroking Nick's hip with slow sweeps of one thumb, hmming softly as Nick massages conditioner into his scalp. Not supposed to do that, shampoo the roots, condition the ends, but fuck hair-care tips when he's getting head in the shower from his boy whom he hasn't seen in more than two months.

Nick knows there's no rushing Harry when he's like this, that he's in his own headspace, but Nick's not usually standing and Harry's not usually kneeling on porcelain, so Nick frees his right hand from the tangle of Harry's curls and jerks himself with two fingers and a thumb still slick with Beach Babe, careful not to hit Harry in the face.

He's not careful enough, though, and he bumps Harry's lips, making him open his eyes, blink up at Nick, then go nearly crosseyed looking at where Nick's stroking himself. "Yeah," he says, pulling off. "Yeah. Come on me." And he stays there on his knees, hands gently kneading Nick's hips, looking up at him and waiting. Which. Jesus. Nick can definitely come on him. In an embarrassingly short time, apparently.

 

Nick gets them both cleaned up, Harry all rinsed and dry and put into sleep pants and one of Nick's shirts, bundled into a blanket on the sofa with Puppy's soft ears between his fingers, while Nick calls for a takeaway. He looks about a hundred times better than he had when he'd walked through Nick's door, and Nick wants to keep him like this.

He knows he can't. That neither of them would want that if it actually came to it, but it's nice for now. For tonight. Just the three of them, maybe some telly, or Nick could put some music on, stroke Harry's head the way Harry's stroking Puppy's, maybe get that kiss.


End file.
